


Just a stupid Thing Teenagers do (Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt)

by Leandra



Series: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur can't keep his cool, Christmas, Gift Giving, Heartbreak, M/M, Morgana can't keep her mouth shut, Step-Brothers, Uncomfortable Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: "Oh my God, Merlin, don’t tell me there’s a history there?!” he grinds out, sounding pained. “He’s your step-brother!”Merlin sucks his bottom lip in his mouth and studiously tries not to look at Paul. He has no idea how he’s supposed to react, but his non-reaction is a guilty admission in itself, and Paul laughs derisively and darkly.“Wow, youshaggedhim, didn’t you?!” He sounds incredulous and disgusted.*-*It's Christmas and Merlin's boyfriend comes to an uncomfortable realisation after family dinner.Written for the Merlin Bingo Fill: Snow.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Other(s) (Arthurian)
Series: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120874
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	Just a stupid Thing Teenagers do (Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Serena for your wonderful and thorough beta and all the squeeing and handholding! <3 You are the best and I can't wait for you to move so we're in a more compartible time zone! <3 <3 <3
> 
> This is set between Part 1 and Part 2 of _Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt_ and features a scene Merlin thinks about in Chapter 13.

Snow falls, when Merlin and Paul leave the Pendragon/Emrys household in Kensington on Christmas Day. It’s late, but Paul insisted they drive home, even though Hunith offered to help them put up the blow-up bed in Merlin’s old room, which Uther is talking about converting into a nursery for Pip. Merlin isn’t surprised that Paul doesn’t want to stay; the mood between them had been strained ever since they stepped inside the house, fuelled by Paul’s nervousness about meeting Merlin’s family. Merlin had almost instantly regretted asking Paul to accompany him to his family’s house this Christmas season. The evening probably could have been much nicer without his boyfriend's confusingly awkward presence, and that’s a thought that makes Merlin wince inwardly as he slips into the passenger seat of Paul’s Volvo. 

It takes Paul a minute to get settled as he moves around in the driver’s seat, blowing briefly into his hands to warm them up, before putting the key in the ignition. It’s a relief, when immediately with the sound of the heating springing to life, the radio starts up as well, filling the uncomfortable silence between them with Christmas Rock music. 

Paul backs them out of the parking spot slowly, before turning from the silent and dark mews street out onto the main road. The snow is coming down in thick flakes and the windshield wipers scrape noisily. Merlin turns his head to look out the passenger side window at their house as he passes, feeling a terrible longing to stay as he looks up to the second floor, where Arthur’s bedroom window is lit. There’s nothing to see there, but he was kind of hoping… 

Merlin suppresses a sigh and bites his bottom lip, his teeth coming to gnaw on the part where his lip ring used to sit until about a year ago. He hasn’t yet gotten rid of the habit of sucking that part of his bottom lip into his mouth, which still feels foreign and empty after all this time. Next to him, Paul’s stoic silence continues, and Merlin chances a side-glance to find Paul staring out at the dark, wet street in concentration, his brows knit together, his shoulders tense. 

He knows that he shouldn’t start a conversation when Paul is in one of his moods, so he turns back towards the window and stares out at the houses passing by and the snow coming down, his thoughts returning to earlier that evening. 

They had exchanged gifts before Christmas dinner, because Hunith wasn’t sure how long Pip would be able to stay awake afterwards. 

_  
“She just had her nap; she’s fresh now,” Hunith explains, shifting Pip on her hip and smiling, before brushing a stray strand of Pip’s wispy black hair from her forehead. She looks happy and content, glowing from within, younger than she is, too, her dark green dress complimenting her fair complexion. “We should do the presents now and have food later.”_

_So they exchange presents in the living room, where a large tree is standing in the corner by the window, lovingly decorated by Hunith and Arthur. Morgana, Merlin and Uther aren’t too keen on dressing up the tree with ornaments, but Hunith and Arthur, both having an eye for aesthetics, have made it a ritual to decorate the Christmas tree together on the 24th. Merlin had been just too happy to quietly slip out and make himself scarce in the past._

_Pip’s gifts take center stage this year—she’s not quite sure what’s happening, but she rips open her colourful parcels with abandon, her tiny fists sending bits of paper and cartonage flying. Merlin is delighted by his sister’s surprised sounds as she unwraps her presents with Morgana’s help, inspecting everything with keen interest._

_“Look, Poppy,” Morgana says gently and turns the Duplo box around. “It’s a playhouse. Here’s a slide, see, like the one we have in the garden?” she explains and points at the bright product photograph, before helping Pip open the box and take out the blocks within. Pip has an adorable concentrated look on her face as she grips the brightly coloured blocks and examines them._

_It’s Uther’s present that earns Pip’s biggest approval though, and she practically launches herself at the toy cat he bought her, cuddling it close and not letting go of it, disregarding any further attempt to open other presents._

_“Looks like love at first sight,” Arthur grins, pressing a kiss to Pip’s dark head and affectionately ruffling through her hair._

_“Next she’ll want a real kitten,” Hunith moans, then sends a warning look towards her husband. “And no, we’re not getting her one, Uther, don’t even think about it! Arthur is allergic to animal hair.”_

_There’s a look on Uther’s face that tells Merlin that his mother just caught out her husband, and he snorts out laughter, feeling so fond of them all and terribly homesick. He moved out one and a half years ago, but Paul’s flat just doesn’t feel anything like their house in Kensington. He still feels like he just moved in, like he’s a guest there, carefully making a space for himself between Paul’s possessions. The thought sobers him instantly and he glances over at his boyfriend, who is standing by the couch, making polite conversation with Uncle Gaius and looking cautious and uncomfortable. For some reason, Paul, who Merlin knows can be actually rather charming and who rarely has trouble meeting new people and dazzling them with his classically handsome looks and sharp wit, hasn’t been able to really hit it off with Merlin’s family. He suspects it’s because Paul finds their patchwork family dynamic weird and is highly suspicious of both Morgana and Arthur, who—and it has to be said—haven’t really made him feel welcome, instead resorting to the kind of sibling in-joking that might make everyone feel like being left out._

_His thoughts are interrupted when Arthur steps in front of him and holds a paper-wrapped parcel out for Merlin to take._

_“If Pip doesn’t want to open my present,” Arthur says, his eyes dancing with amusement, “it’s Merlin’s turn to open his now.”_

_They haven’t really talked to each other yet past a superficial _hello_ and Merlin grows hot all over with the weight of Arthur’s attention on him, feeling a blush rise to his face. He clears his throat and says, “Alright,” amazed by how hoarse his voice sounds. He reaches for the present with unsteady hands. It’s vaguely book-shaped and wrapped in the wrapping paper Arthur helped make Pip with potato print the other day, and which had garnered much parental pride towards their youngest from Hunith and Uther already. _

_Their fingers brush as Arthur hands it over, and Merlin clears his throat to mask any unwanted gasps at the touch. He carefully opens the paper so as not to destroy it, discarding it on the sideboard that holds their DVD and games collection._

_It’s a book, like he suspected, and it looks old, not store-bought. He turns it over gently in his hands to read the title, set in the dark-green linen bookbinding in golden letters. It’s Dylan Thomas’ “Under Milk Wood” and it looks like a beautiful vintage edition._

_“I found it at a fleamarket,” Arthur says softly, and when Merlin glances up from the book, Arthur looks maybe a bit nervous, like he isn’t sure Merlin will like the present. “Go on, open it,” Arthur urges expectantly, but he’s chewing on his lip and his blue eyes aren’t looking at Merlin but at the book in his hand._

_Merlin does, and sucks in a soft breath when he opens the book to find, on one of the first empty pages, a drawing of the sleeping town of Llareggub, lying dark and moonless, the cobbled streets illuminated by an eerie, otherworldly light. He easily recognises Arthur’s hand and drawing style._

_“Fuck,” he breathes, startled, then looks up at Arthur, who is smiling carefully now._

_“You like it?” Arthur sounds nervous, which is ridiculous, because he should know how Merlin feels about his art, and he also knows that Dylan Thomas is one of Merlin’s favourite writers._

_Merlin swallows and nods, looks away from Arthur’s face and back to the book in his hands. He turns the pages, finding another carefully coloured drawing, this one of Captain Cat and his deceased shipmates, the shipwrecked men swirling like ghosts in the air around Captain Cat’s head. Further on, Mrs. Ogmore-Pritchard sleeping in her bed, with both of her dead husbands side-by-side; Cherry Owen, dancing drunkenly in his breeches on the table; a young Captain Cat with his Rosie Probert... there are about ten drawings interspersed with the writing, and Merlin reverently turns the pages until he can’t take it no more, stepping forward with a finger marking his place, while he pushes into Arthur’s space, wrapping his arms around him in a hug._

_“It’s fucking beautiful,” he breathes, and when Arthur, who stands stiffly for a moment, lifts his arms to hug him back, he adds, “thank you,” his voice a bit wobbly._

_He feels like he doesn’t need to say more, to say how moved he is by the present. Merlin is touched and feeling wistful, remembering their little autumn holiday in Wales years ago, hiking national parks and exploring small villages. He read “Under Milk Wood” to Arthur on a rainy afternoon in one of the B &Bs they stayed in until his voice was hoarse, Arthur’s head pillowed on his stomach. He can’t remember which B&B it was; he only remembers the feeling of great contentment and the warmth of Arthur’s body against him. _

_Against him now, Arthur feels warm and solid, broad and strong, too. He smells familiar, too, that comforting Arthur smell Merlin is always able to recall, even when he hasn’t seen Arthur in months, a smell that always makes him yearn for the past, before everything got complicated and he was still ignorant about what was really going on. He finally lets go reluctantly, because they haven’t touched like this in a very long time, and his body sings with pleasure at the contact, protesting when he slowly pulls back like you’re tearing a limb from him. He wants to stay here, with Arthur in his arms, and not have to let go. He wants to crowd closer and push his nose into Arthur’s neck and forget where they are, and that there are other people around, like his family and his boyfriend._

_“What did he get you?” Morgana asks from Merlin’s side, prying the book from Merlin’s hands. “Oh my God,” she says loudly once she flips through the pages. “You got him an individualised book and I was only worth a lousy gift voucher for a trip to St. Ives?”_

_“Are you seriously complaining that my Christmas gift to you is a two days vacation to Cornwall with me?” Arthur asks with a carefully lifted eyebrow._

_“Yes!” Morgana says archly, “I mean, I could have gotten a beautiful book which might be worth_ a lot of money one day if you’re famous _. Instead I have to endure your obnoxious presence for two days!”_

_Merlin purses his lips and thinks that he would happily exchange his beautiful gift if it got him a two-day trip with Arthur. They never do anything together anymore, with good reason._

_“Ungrateful wench,” Arthur mutters, taking the book out of Morgana’s hand to place it back into Merlin’s. “And that there, that ungratefulness, is the very reason why you don’t get a present like this from me. You wouldn’t be able to appreciate it!”_

_Merlin snorts at Morgana’s enraged little warcry and carefully steps out of the way as his step-siblings get into each other’s faces. When he looks around, he finds Paul standing by the tree, sipping a glass of lemonade and watching the three of them with narrowed eyes. He looks unhappy, his pale blue eyes darting from Merlin to Morgana to Arthur and back. Guiltily, Merlin crosses the few steps over to where Paul is standing and slips a hand around his back._

_“Hey,” he says, smiling, rubbing his palm against the small of Paul’s back, over the soft, warm fabric of his jumper. “Don’t mind them, they get like this all the time. Wouldn’t be a Pendragon/Emrys Christmas without a sibling fight.”_

_Paul doesn’t answer immediately, still watching Arthur and Morgana, before he slowly turns, regarding Merlin with a strangely thoughtful look. “He must have worked days on this,” is all he says, nodding towards the book still in Merlin’s hands._

_“Oh,” Merlin says, overtly aware of the book clutched between his fingers and the undertone of Paul’s voice. “He’s quick with a pencil.”_

_“It’s a very thoughtful gift,” Paul continues, and Merlin feels annoyance take over any sympathy, because he recognises the pattern now as Paul’s insecure jealousy creeping out of the woodwork. While usually Paul’s jealous possessiveness is highly unfounded and uncalled for, this time around he has every right to worry, but still it grates on Merlin._

_“Yes, he knows me,” he snaps, pulling back his hand from casually touching Paul’s side. “Maybe better than anyone else.”_

_He realises a moment later that he revealed too much with his snappish retort, because Paul is looking even more like he sucked on a lemon, his gaze returning to glare at Arthur. Arthur is still gesticulating wildly as he argues with Morgana, who is looking more amused than anything else, her eyes blazing in challenge as she crosses her arms in front of her chest._

_“Better than me?” Paul asks, before turning his stony gaze back onto Merlin. “I never made you such a gift.”_

__Oh, fuck you, _Merlin thinks, because he doesn’t want to have that conversation, but he’s spared having to answer when Hunith all calls them to dinner in the dining room._

_The evening kind of goes downhill from there, even though Merlin tries to not let himself be provoked. They’ve been having a bit of a rough patch over the last couple of months, setting in after the early phase of their relationship had given way to something of a daily business. Merlin didn’t notice before how possessive Paul was, how domineering and quietly controlling he could be, but it was starting to become a problem. These days, nothing Merlin did seemed to be good enough. Every relationship he had with everyone was called into question by Paul’s baseless jealousy. Additionally, Paul, who held a well-paying job as a marketing manager of an e-commerce platform, thought Merlin’s band practice was a waste of time and that he should concentrate on his studies._

_There had been frequent fights about things big and small and a couple of times Merlin found himself sleeping on Will’s couch, having run out of their small flat because he couldn’t stand to have to defend himself for the way he lived his life. He’s aware that he should probably take a stand and end it, but the inability to make his first serious relationship work just because the honeymoon phase is over feels like a personal failure._

_Tonight isn’t any better. Paul is on edge already, irked by the unfamiliar surroundings, by Merlin’s family and their supporting nature, by his suspicion of Arthur and his gift. It comes to a head when Paul almost absentmindedly offers Merlin a piece of turkey._

_“You should try this, Merlin, it’s really good,” he says quietly and Merlin suppresses a huff at Paul’s quiet determination to get Merlin to give up being vegan, because Paul considers it unhealthy. He decides not to give Paul the satisfaction of an answer, and instead shakes his head mutely, hoping nobody noticed, but there’s no such luck._

_“He’s vegan,” Arthur says sharply in his stead. “He doesn’t eat meat.”_

_When Merlin looks up from his plate, Arthur’s eyes are blazing from across the table and he’s looking at Paul incredulously. He doesn’t need Arthur to fight his fight for him, so he sends him a half-pleading, half-furious look, which Arthur ignores in favour of glaring at Paul some more._

_“I’m aware,” Paul says coldly, shooting daggers back across the table. “I just think he should eat meat. He’s too pale.”_

_Arthur scoffs loudly, his fork clattering against the plate as he drops it with attitude, and warning bells shrill in Merlin’s head._

_“I’m sitting right here,” he says warningly, before Arthur can get a word out, “and I can speak for myself.” He looks pointedly at Paul, carefully and calmly enunciating and leaving no question it’s the end of the discussion, at least for now, “I don’t want meat, thank you.”_

_“...bloody wanker,” Arthur mumbles, not quietly enough._

_“What are you planning to see in St. Ives, Morgana?” Hunith asks hastily and loudly, too loudly, while Uther lowers his fork and daps his lips with his napkin, carefully eyeing first Paul, then Arthur, like he wonders if there’s going to be a duel to which he might be called as an attendant._ Pistols at dawn, _Merlin thinks hysterically,_ and I’m the damsel in distress. __

_“Tate Modern, obviously!” Morgana says just as loudly. “And Barbara Hepworth’s workshop.”_

_“Oh, I love her sculptures,” Gaius agrees. “And her garden is supposed to be splendid.”_

_“Arthur, didn’t you write a paper on her?” Hunith asks busily as she laddles more nut loaf onto Merlin’s plate, unprompted._

_It takes Arthur a moment to answer, because he’s still scowling, looking murderous, but to his credit he snaps out of it. “Yes,” he presses out between clenched teeth, but his eyes find Merlin’s across the table, silently questioning. “About her Hospital Drawings and the connection between medical work and artistic vision.”_

__I’m fine _, Merlin tries to convey with his expression,_ please step back down _. He wishes he could communicate telepathically, but Arthur seems to understand, because his gaze softens and he slowly picks up his fork to commence eating, even though there’s still an unhappy tilt to his mouth._

_Next to Merlin, Paul sits stiffly, eating methodically and slowly, not looking up from his plate, radiating awkwardness in a way that Merlin realises means Paul knows that he fucked up._

__

Back in the car, Paul still hasn’t said a word, driving with a grim determination. 

The radio fades from one song into the next, the Christmas music making way for an 80s number it only takes Merlin a couple of beats to recognise. He snorts out in surprise when he realises it’s The Psychedelic Furs “Love My Way”, a song he hasn’t heard in years, but it slams memories into him all the same. Arthur against the brick wall, behind the oleander, that very first night. 

“What?” Paul mutters, briefly looking over. 

“That song,” Merlin says quietly, wondering about the strange coincidence of it playing on the radio tonight, at this very moment. He can almost feel Arthur’s lips sliding against his, hear his soft gasps of pleasure.

“God, it’s shit, right? I mean, why can’t they just stick to Christmas music on Christmas?” Paul says and reaches for the radio to switch the channel. 

“No!” Merlin says, his hand shooting out and catching Paul’s wrist. “I quite like this song.” 

It’s Paul’s turn to snort, and he sounds fondly exasperated, despite their earlier confrontation during dinner. “You would,” he says. 

Merlin bites his lip and waits for Paul to start ranting about Merlin’s choice of music, but strangely enough, Paul is quiet all through the rest of the drive to their flat. 

When they step inside, Merlin is bone-tired and he toes off his wet shoes, flinging them carelessly onto the mat, before depositing his bag on the sideboard with the presents from Morgana, Hunith and Uther, Gaius, and Arthur. When he looks up, Paul is watching him, his blue eyes worried. 

“I’m sorry,” Paul says quietly, stepping up to him and cupping his face, looking at him imploringly. He’s tall, a bit taller than Merlin, and he stoops a bit as he presses a kiss against Merlin’s lips. “I shouldn’t have said anything about the meat.” 

“You shouldn’t have,” Merlin agrees, sighing, briefly closing his eyes. It’s like this often, afterwards, after they have both calmed down. Paul will get needy in a moment, meaning to ascertain that everything is alright between them and they’ll have make-up sex that still leaves Merlin feel like they can’t quite make-up what transpired. He’s definitely not in the mood for sex now. He’s tired and he wants to curl up in bed, maybe listen to music on his headphones and read. He’d love to read “Under Milk Wood,” examine the drawings more closely, but he fears it wouldn’t sit well with Paul, and he certainly has no intention of making this evening any more awkward than it already is. 

Paul leans in for a kiss, and Merlin kisses back for a moment, but keeps it superficial, before drawing back. 

“I’m tired. We should head to bed,” he says, slowly extracting himself from Paul’s embrace. He leads the way to the bedroom, listening to Paul following him quietly and starts stripping down by his side of the bed, tossing his trousers over an armchair. 

Behind him, hovering in the doorframe, Paul is quiet, too quiet, unmoving. Merlin can all but feel his eyes boring into his skin. 

“There’s something odd about your family,” Paul says finally. Merlin sighs, reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, before turning around. He’s too exhausted for this. 

“The way they look at me when they think I’m not noticing. Like they are puzzled by me.” 

“That’s nonsense. They look at you normally,” Merlin mutters, preparing himself for Paul’s insecurities, wishing fervently he could just go to bed. 

“You call Arthur glaring at me all evening like he wants to murder me normal?” Paul asks and he takes a step forward, coming to stand at the other side of the bed. 

“You shouldn’t have said the bit about the food,” Merlin deflects, hoping to send Paul back onto his guilt trip about his behaviour, so he will let it slide.

“It’s not just Arthur. Your step-father… he has this disapproving air about him, like he finds me lacking.” 

“Uther finds everyone lacking.”

Paul is quiet for another moment, before he continues, “There was something funny Morgana said to me, when we collected the dishes and were alone in the kitchen.” 

It doesn’t sound like something funny at all and Merlin braces himself. “Morgana has a strange sense of humour. It takes some time to get her,” Merlin offers carefully, but Paul just looks at him, his brows furrowed. 

“She said ‘You know, you look a bit like Arthur’,” Paul says and his voice sounds weird and suspicious, “And then she hummed, looked me over and then continued, in a strange tone, like she was fucking sorry for me, ‘But you aren’t Arthur’.” 

Merlin swallows, blinks, thinks, _Fuck, Morgana._

That’s when it hits him, really hits him, that she’s right, and he has to sit down on the side of the bed, thrown by the realisation. Because looking at Paul standing across from him, confronted with Morgana’s words, he can’t unsee it, even though he never saw it before: Paul is tall and broad-shouldered with dark-blonde hair and blue eyes and a classically handsome face. With his 29 years he’s a bit older than Arthur and he wears his hair swept back from his forehead instead of carelessly tousled and he’s lankier and less muscled than Arthur because he has no inclination for sports, but it’s undeniable that Merlin apparently has a type. 

“Do you know what she meant?” Paul asks and his tone is suddenly sharp and a little bit dangerous, like he realises he hit on something by Merlin’s way of reacting. 

Merlin shakes his head, but the lie makes him panic. 

“And Arthur… You never told me much about him, which is weird, because you seem close. The way he lashed out at me! Calling me a wanker to my face!” Paul is pacing the length of the room now, his voice agitated and Merlin can practically watch him connecting the dots, because one thing that definitely attracted him to Paul was his bright mind, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. His throat feels dry, his mind racing.

“Your step-brother is an arrogant prick. Who does he think he is?” Paul growls angrily, stepping in front of Merlin. “All evening long, he behaved like I wasn’t even there, like he …” 

Paul trails off mid-sentence, a baffled expression coming onto his face and Merlin grimaces, while Paul’s eyes widen and he gasps for air. “...Like _he_ was your boyfriend...” Paul mutters softly, blinking.

"Oh my God, Merlin, don’t tell me there’s a history there?!” he grinds out, sounding pained. “He’s your step-brother!” 

Merlin sucks his bottom lip in his mouth and studiously tries not to look at Paul. He has no idea how he’s supposed to react, but his non-reaction is a guilty admission in itself, and Paul laughs derisively and darkly. 

“Wow, you _shagged_ him, didn’t you?!” He sounds incredulous and disgusted. 

Merlin has absolutely no idea how to answer that and he knows he probably looks wide-eyed and overwhelmed. 

“When was it? Were you already with me?” Paul asks, hurt and angry, his face blotchy.

“No!” Merlin huffs, closes his eyes and shakes himself. When he looks at Paul, his boyfriend has a peculiar expression on his face. He looks thrown. Paul never looks thrown, but there you have it, he’s absolutely flabbergasted beneath a carefully displayed layer of anger. 

“It was when Arthur and I met. Years ago. It was just a stupid thing teenagers do, without thinking too much about it,” Merlin says, hating himself the very moment the words burst out of him for downplaying what really happened. He also thought he would never talk about it again, to anyone. 

“...A stupid thing teenagers do,” Paul mutters tonelessly, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe Merlin one bit. 

Swallowing, Merlin gets up from the bed, takes a step forward, but Paul retreats for about the same amount of space which Merlin tried to close between them. 

“Yes,” Merlin says, trying to reach out for Paul’s hand, only to have Paul evade his touch like he’s a leper. 

“More than once? For how long?” There’s reluctant fascination in Paul’s tone, like he’s watching a trainwreck but can’t be arsed to look away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin mutters, because he doesn’t want to lie again. 

“It does,” Paul says determinedly. “Because once might be—” and he lifts his hands to make air quotes, “ _a stupid thing teenagers do_... “ 

Merlin holds Paul’s gaze, but he can’t bring himself to answer. He thinks of Arthur and how he handed over the book, of his soft, happy face at Merlin’s reaction. 

Paul snorts, hurt colouring his voice, as if Merlin betrayed him. “Shit,” he says quietly. 

Merlin finds himself chewing on his bottom lip again. He wants to reassure Paul that it doesn’t matter, that it’s been a long time. He probably should also tell him that Paul has nothing to fear, and then ascertain the fact by stepping into his arms, only he can’t bring himself to do it. He feels lost and like a stranger in his own bedroom and he finds himself wishing he was back home and realises that home is truly where the heart is. For a split second he’s tempted to grab his things and take a taxi back to Kensington.

Paul, who so far has stood throughout their conversation, sits down on the bed and rubs a hand over his face. “Who even sleeps with their step-brother? Was it the thrill of the forbidden or something?” He looks up and the displeasure on his face is borderline disgust. When Merlin still can’t answer, his jaw working quietly as he searches for anything to say, Paul mutters, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” Merlin finds himself saying, and then his feet carry him out the bedroom. He half expects Paul to call him back, but Paul is suspiciously silent behind him. The living room is dark but for a sliver of moonlight when Merlin enters the room, his bare feet slapping softly on the hardwood floor. He passes the couch, much too awake now to lie down, and steps towards the window, looking out onto the street. 

Snow is still falling in heavy flakes, finally settling on the wet street, coating it in a fluffy, sparkling carpet of white. It reminds him of New Year’s Eve of 2014, when he ran out of the house shortly before midnight, hurt and confused, leaving Arthur with Mordred. It had been snowing like mad then too. 

Once more he feels like packing his things and stepping out there, to take a taxi and drive back (where he belongs, a voice inside him tells him quietly), but he doesn’t want to burden his family with his drama, a drama which he wouldn’t be able to explain. Briefly, he wonders what would happen if he went home, if he did something needy and desperate. He longs for his mother to hold him like she did when he was younger, to tell him everything’s going to be alright. 

Instead, he’s going to sleep out here on the couch tonight, and he’s going to try and pick up the pieces tomorrow, because he’s a responsible adult in a grown-up relationship and he’s not in love with his step-brother anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, either 
> 
> read [Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030971) from the beginning 
> 
> or if you took a detour from the original fic, continue reading [Part 2: 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030971).


End file.
